Freezing Fog

Moscow's weather always seems to be in flux. In a single winter day we can have sun, rain, sleet, snow, hail, fog, and sun again. It makes it hard to figure out what protective outerwear to tote around on a daily basis (should I bring the puffy, the hardshell, the softshell, the rain coat, or the fancy coat plus umbrella?).

But, one of the most predictable aspects of Moscow weather in the wintertime is an absence of sun. This is a result of two things normally. One, Moscow is located in a very northern latitude so the sun rises late and sets early (like we have sun from 8 am to 4 pm on the darkest days of the year). Two, the mountain affect just seems to make weather bog down here on the Palouse.

So, for the last week, we've had "freezing fog." The fog has just been stuck right on top of Moscow and it hasn't lifted for a week (give or take the occasional 30 minutes of sun). On top of just fog, it's been extremely damp fog that freezes onto the trees in unique crystalline patterns. It makes for beautiful decorations on the trees, grasses, and buildings.


But, the freezing fog is also down right cold! Not near the cold the Midwest has been having, but bone-chilling cold. The kind that sinks right through your coat, sweater, skin, and begins to make you shake in that bone-rattling way that only the damp, the fog, and the lack of sun can cause. I've been colder this week with temperatures ranging around freezing than I was in December when our highs were around zero degrees.

We've been making the most of it, though, by trying to go on little bike rides around Moscow. We managed to go on a surprisingly sunny Sunday morning. At first, our ride seemed pretty successful. We got out on the path and cycled around. But, after about 10 minutes out and maybe a half mile down, our toes, fingers, and ears started freezing. We made it a mile and a half before turning into a nearby coffee shop to thaw out with a cuppa.

Even though the frozen fog is pretty, I can tell my tolerance for it is shot. SEND ME SOME VITAMIN D, SUNSHINE, HAPPINESS, COME ON!! Maybe my plea will help. Then again, even a snow storm would be a nice change from the gloomy fog.

First Snow

It snowed today and stuck on the ground a bit! The first snow this fall. Tomorrow we're supposed to get upwards of a foot. And it's supposed to be 13 degrees by Sunday! Here comes winter!

White Out

I woke to the sounds of a snowplow grating against the pavement. It jarred me awake and I realized snow must have fallen overnight. Outside, the world was wintery white. Snow flakes flurried across the sky, yanked hither and thither by the blustery wind. It looked utterly cold.

In the kitchen, I heated up some oatmeal, hoping it would stick to my ribs and keep me warm. Then, on went the NPS layers and the flat hat and out into the cold I ventured. Three inches of snow lay on the walk and I shoveled it quickly before heading to the Visitor Center. The entire sky and earth were white. Imposing Mt Everts had vanished in the blowing snow, leaving only a solid white presence in the foreground.

I trudged down the drive to the VC, snow and wind blowing me off course. Inside was a haven of warmth that lasted only briefly as I picked up the flag and headed to the flagpole. Sepulcher Mountain and the Absarokas had also disappeared into the hazy white of the blizzard. This was a veritable white out. I couldn't even see the Terraces, a mere quarter mile away. I could hardly see the hotel. The flag tugged and fluttered with excitement at being hoisted high into the air. My fingers and ears grew numb with the wintery exposure as I turned to salute the flag.

Inside, a ranger called with the road report. Zero visibility, blizzard conditions, white out. It's a good day to stay inside, I thought as I watched snow drifts form outside. It was a good day for hibernation, for hot chocolate, for hot springs, and anything geared towards hunkering down. Although the days are long and the month say it's spring, it feels like January here. It may almost be April, but it's winter here in Wonderland.

Winter Symbols

There is something in the cold comfort of bare oak trees that will forever nourish me. Throughout my childhood growing up in the bitter cold of Iowa winters, the rasping grey-brown branches of the white oak symbolized life changing. Every season the trees would display some new miracle. In spring time pollen falling in long worm-shaped spirals would sink in rain puddles where I would fish them with Jeffery. Rich green leaves crowned the canopy in the long humid months of summer. In the fall, rust brown leaves would spin from the sky for us to rake into piles and drag into the backyard. Winter exposed the bare branches and coated them in layers of white, billowing snow.

Oak trees are one of the most familiar and homey trees I have experienced. Although I love the trees of Idaho, Wyoming, and Montana, nothing, not even the changing tamarack, seems to connect to so much of my life as the oak tree. Growing up on the border between the oak savanna and the tall grass prairie, oak trees older than the Civil War graced the surrounding hills. On windy days, I would play in the yard imagining I was conducting the trees to play the soft whooshing sounds their leaves made when playing with the breeze. Down the street a hillside of oak trees cooled the summer days and created a miniature wilderness in the midst of our neighborhood. The Nature Center brought together the subtle lines of prairie and oak savanna in a picturesque union of golden fields and brown-green limbs on the Cedar River flood plain.

When I landed in New York City to spend Christmas with my family, the first thing that registered with me was seeing in the darkness the naked winter trees of my youth. I knew when I crossed the river to New Jersey the hillsides would be covered with this wintery symbol. I welcomed the trees, the cold, the grey winter sky, and the brown land into my heart even as those winter symbols drew me back home. For, in Guatemala, the resolute tropical atmosphere, humidity, and overly green 5,000 foot hills, always give me the crawls. It just does not feel right that there is a consistency and never-changing environment around me. I need the cold, the sweaters, the winter light, and the hope of coming spring. Here in Central America, I feel decidedly uncomfortable about the climate (although it’s nice to be warm) for its lack of change, never-falling leaves, and constant unfamiliar and overwhelming green.

In Guatemala, the months hardly seem to vary and there is little seasonal change to look forward to as I cross off the days on the calendar. December in Iowa, Idaho, and New Jersey means cold, the longest night of the year, Christmas, and returning light. December in Guatemala seemed to mean constant fireworks, consistent temperature, posadas, and Gallo Christmas trees. I hardly realized Christmas was approaching here without the seasonal traditions of cookie baking, tree scavenging and decorating, and catching up with home. What is Christmas here? I never learned.

Seeing the bare limbs of the deciduous trees and the ice on Cedar Lake, feeling the warmth of family, and enjoying the spirit of the season through Christmas carols, caresses, and compassion, I felt safe and whole again for the first time in six months. What a remedy to months of solitude. The wintery symbols were all I needed to feel complete again.